


Tethered

by spiderlillium



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Dark Fantasy, Dragons, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Other, Political Alliances, Russian Empire, Slow Build, Slow Burn, War, ratings may change as we go as well, tags to be added as we go my friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderlillium/pseuds/spiderlillium
Summary: In an unscheduled detour, Lord Otabek Altin accompanies the Imperial Crowned Prince in search of a long lost treasure.To his surprise, he finds something much valuable than gold in the cold, dark tower of the maze-castle.





	1. The Girl in the Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bioshock Infinite, and all the fairy and knight AUs out there.
> 
> Title comes from the song 'Tethered' by Sleeping at Last.

Like many things, winter comes unexpected.   
  
The eleventh moon arrived with a swift kind of chill that froze lakes in a matter of days. It did not take long to freeze other things too, like the Great River that flows near the Imperial Palace, the livestock, the beggars on the street.  
  
Once the moon turned anew, the cold has claimed many more for its own - babies in their sleep, the younger children, the old. The living do not know where to bury the dead because the ground is as frozen as the corpses, so they burn them instead.  
  
There is a funeral pyre when the Crown Prince’s host passes by - in fact it is not the first one they see. It is not the first one to be ignored, either.  
  
Lord Otabek Altin rides with this great host, rides under the banner of red and the stars of the Heavenly Emperor. He was commanded by his liege to accompany his son to Vitelia, an allied country in the west, where the Crown Prince will meet his betrothed.  
  
All of this, just for a political move... Otabek thought of the masses out here in the cold, dying slowly day by day while the monarch played his game, blind to their suffering.  
  
The sound of a horn pierces the steady clopping of horse hooves. Otabek forgets his hatred for the Emperor for a while, and pauses at the signal.  
  
Eventually the hosts stops moving. A messenger rides from the front to deliver the news.  
  
“We ride to Rusthenia,” shouts the messenger, his face red from exertion. “We ride to Rusthenia!”  
  
Otabek’s breath catches in his throat.   
  
The news travels far to the end of the host, and when the messenger passes by him again, Otabek had already ridden close to the front.  
  
“Captain,” He called, when Otabek has passed the royal carriage. “Captain Zhou!”  
  
The lead paused from saying something to the man riding next to him, merely turning his head toward Otabek, glancing briefly. The officers flanking him turned to look, as well.  
  
“Lord Altin,” The Captain addressed him politely after excusing himself from the officer he was just talking to, pulling the reins of his horse so he could make his way toward Otabek.  
  
“Why are we heading to Rusthenia?”  
  
Captain Zhou rode side to side with Otabek’s horse, keeping a steady trot. “The Prince wishes to make a detour.”  
  
“The Prince’s duty is to his betrothed,” Otabek pressed, eyebrows furrowing. “Her Highness Princess Sara awaits him in Vitelia.” That was the point of their trip, after all. A courtship. An engagement worthy of royals.

Captain Zhou seemed to agree. “The Prince cannot be convinced otherwise, I am afraid.”

“What changed his mind?”

The captain sighed tiredly before answering. “The advisor did not say. If you’ll excuse me,” And then he rode back to lead, leaving Otabek with no other choice but to follow.

 

* * *

 

 

They rode for three days before Otabek recognized the heavy iron gates of one of the entrances of Rusthenia from afar.

The border opened for the host, welcoming them to the conquered land. Thereafter, was more riding - Rusthenia was a land worthy of an empire on its own, even without conquering other countries. There were mountain ranges and lakes and fields and endless forests as far as the eye can see - but it was colder, the snow falling faster and heavier. The North is beautiful, but here winter is always cruel.

At dusk, they arrive at a palace, unannounced. Otabek cannot quite remember the name of this particular place, but the servants remember  _ him.  _ They bow low when they see him, and an older servant address him as ‘Prince’. Otabek nodded back in respect, but does not say that he has been stripped of the title. 

When a royal guard scolded them for it, Otabek saw the defiant look in their eyes.

“Oh, is Otabek here?” A cheerful voice says, a smile apparent in his tone. Otabek turns to look up, and sees a familiar face.

On the steps leading inside the palace stood Phichit, heir to the Thai throne. With a smile as bright as the color he wears, he hurriedly raced down the marble steps, leaving the Crowned Prince’s side as he headed straight toward Otabek.

“Your Highness,” Otabek inclined his head to give his respect.

Phichit bowed his head low and pressed his hands together as if in a prayer, his fingertips almost touching his lips. “Your Majesty,” He said softly.

Otabek waited for someone to correct him, but no one did. He wondered if they even heard Phichit speak.

“Guang Hong, have you met Otabek?” Phichit, who still wore that dazzling smile, turned to look back at the Crowned Prince.

Near the top, the Crowned Prince stiffened, and refused to meet Otabek’s eyes. He looked completely out of place, surrounded by his assistants and guards. “Yes, we have met.”

“Of course you have,” Phichit laughed good-naturedly. “Did you know his family used to be allied with the Romanovs?”

Crowned Prince Guang Hong seemed terribly uncomfortable as Phichit said this. “Yes.”

“My dear Prince,” Minister Wu, who was a severe-looking man with salt and pepper hair, moved down a few steps and addressed Phichit. “We should be going now. Supper awaits.”

“Oh?” Phichit didn’t seem perturbed by the tenseness of the older man’s tone. “Then we must hurry… Lord Altin, please follow me - I have a tale and a request, for you.”

Minister Wu raised his eyebrow so high it nearly disappeared behind his fur hat, but he did not say anything against it. The Crowned Prince looked even more troubled, but he too, said nothing.

Past the double doors of the palace is a splendid sight, bathed by warm light from the chandeliers. The foyer welcomed them with warm tones and murals of spring - this is the Summer Palace, Otabek now remembers. He had been here only once, in his childhood.

“My lord knows this place,” said Phichit, recognizing the look on Otabek’s face.

“I do, Your Highness,” He replied, tearing his eyes away from the paintings decorating the hallway that they were now proceeding to walk into. “Emperor Nikolai II invited my family here over the summer, when I was eleven. It was the first time I met the Romanovs.”

Phichit smiled, nodding. “I hope it was a fond memory for you.”

_ Not enough to compensate for all the terrible ones,  _ Otabek thought but did not say, remembering a boy with fierce, green eyes, and his older brother, who could charm anyone with his smile. “Thank you for the sentiment.”

They continued in, turning only to stop before a pair of double doors. It lead into the main dining hall, the long table already set and the fireplaces being tended to.

Crowned Prince Guang Hong sat by the endcap, behind the main fireplace. Minister Wu sat by his left, and Phichit by his right. An advisor to the Crowned Prince positioned himself beside the Minister, and upon Phichit’s urging, Otabek settled by the side of the Thai Prince.

One of the assistants of the Crowned Prince exchanged a few words with one of the Rusthenian staff, before saying, “Supper will be served in a while, my lords - we apologize. For the meantime, tea will be served for the pleasure of His Imperial Highness.”

Indeed, tea has been given right after. Otabek saw the girl who delivered the trolley of tea tremble as she handed the ceramic pot to one of the imperial assistants.

“As we wait, shall I tell a tale?” Phichit said, after sipping some tea. “I promised Lord Altin one, after all.”

Otabek stared at the prince beside him and waited, his curiosity baited.

“There are many things said about the Romanovs of Rusthenia,” Prince Phichit began, “But none is quite as famous as the  _ Hoard _ .”

“You have already told this tale, Your Highness,” interrupted Minister Wu in a way that seemed passively rude, “This would be the third time, if I am correct.”

“That is true,” Phichit took no offense, however. “But this time around, we have someone here to confirm if the Hoard is truly something worthy of awe. Isn’t that right, Lord Altin?”

Minister Wu’s beady gaze shot straight at Otabek. Even the advisor appeared to be waiting for the confirmation from him, although the Crowned Prince seemed too preoccupied with his tea to pay proper attention.

“Mounds of gold as tall as the pillars of a castle,” Phichit continued eagerly, “Mountains of gems, pearls, and other precious stones… The Silver Throne of the Old Northern Kings. Swords forged in dragonfire and shields made from everlasting steel… Is it all true? Did the Romanovs really have these treasures?”

_ So the reason for the detour presents itself.  _ Otabek stared back at Phichit, at the wonder on his face. There was some other emotion hidden behind it that he could not place. “The Romanovs had their fair share of treasure, I am sure, but I think this tale had been exaggerated through the passing of time.”

“We all know the past dynasty that ruled Rusthenia had been greedy,” The advisor, who only spoke now, lifted his teacup slowly as he watched Otabek with his droopy eyes. “Before the Romanovs came to power with the help of Khazaria, there had already been tales of the Hoard.”

“It does not matter,” Otabek responded curtly. “Rusthenia has fallen. Whatever treasure they had is surely in the hands of the Heavenly Emperor now.”

“But our beloved Heavenly Emperor does  _ not _ have the treasure,” Phichit interrupted, a smile building on his lips. “It has not been found. Surely, something as massive and awe-inspiring as this cannot be missed.

“Which takes us to a second tale - my favorite!” Phichit clasped his hands excitedly, positively grinning. Minister Wu simply sighed.

“Before the fall of the Romanovs, Emperor Nikolai II was said to have moved the Hoard in a secret place, as the war loomed ever closer, to protect it.” 

“An impossible feat,” commented the minister. “That kind of treasure cannot be moved and concealed without being seen.”

“They said he hid it in the maze-castle,” Phichit continued, “And had his wife embed the walls with faerie magic.”

The advisor made a face at the mention of faeries.

“As the war went on, it was clear that the Heavenly Emperor would win, and so the Romanovs fled the capital - yet they were still pursued successfully, which led to the death of Nikolai II, and his Empress.

“Yet the children survived,” Prince Phichit sat back and smiled, eyes glinting under the soft firelight, “Crowned Prince Viktor fled with his little brother Yuri to the harbor, where ships waited for their escape.”

“The  _ halflings _ were killed in the harbor,” Minister Wu interjected with intended malice.

“Yes,” Phichit said, still smiling, “Yet there are rumors one survived.”

Minister Wu snorted in an undignified manner.

“It was said the Romanovs had one other sibling - a little girl, that was born after Prince Yuri. They said the birth was not announced publicly, in fear of being persecuted further, as Emperor Nikolai II - which we all know -  had made a faerie his empress.

“They said that - upon realizing their impending downfall, Prince Viktor pleaded with their faerie relatives to help him hide his youngest and only sister in the castle, together with the Hoard. That was why the Hoard was never seen - because faeries guarded it, together with the last of the Romanovs.”

“Rumors, every last bit of it,” said Minister Wu. “My prince, you should know better than to believe in such things…”

“But it is plausible,” Phichit said, after a dainty sip of his tea. “After all, the maze-castle exists. How else can the Hoard be concealed so perfectly?”

“I agree with the Prince,” The advisor interjected. “Yet… We cannot hide the fact that the maze-castle had been searched thoroughly in the past. No treasure has been found.”

Phichit shrugged. “Perhaps they simply weren’t looking in the right place.” 

Minister Wu appeared to be conflicted with something. “My Prince, we can play treasure-hunters in the summer. The Crowned Prince’s duty lies with Vitelia. It is still a long way to the west… The snow falls heavier by the day-”

“What do you think, Lord Altin?”

Phichit wasn’t smiling anymore, eyes turned to him.

“I agree with the Minister,” Otabek said instantly. “The northern winter will kill us if we push to go to the maze-castle.”

“There are some things worth dying for, Lord Altin,” said Phichit, solemn.

_ Gold and gems are not one of them, _ thought Otabek. 

“If we find the Hoard,” Prince Phichit continued, “Guang Hong wouldn’t need a bride so early, or an alliance with a western country. That Rusthenian treasure will ensure the future of the Jin Empire… And as an added treat, Guang Hong can have the Romanov Princess for his own pleasure.”

Crowned Prince Guang Hong turned scarlet at the last statement.

Minister Wu breathed deeply, preparing for the rebuttal. “A wonderful thought, but-”

“Have you changed your mind, Guang Hong?” Insistent, Phichit looked at the Imperial Prince, a smile returning to his lips.

Guang Hong, despite looking uncomfortable and flushed, shook his head. “No. I want to go to the maze-castle.”

“As my Prince commands,” grinned Phichit, with a slight bow. “Otabek would be able to lead us there, won’t you, my lord?”

Otabek only nodded, and prayed to the gods that there was no Romanov princess waiting in that castle.

 

* * *

 

Two days had passed by before they arrived at their destination.

Located further north, the castle stood deep inside the forest, with only one recognizable trail leading to it. Otabek had remembered it well - his family escaped the sweltering Khazarian summer by retreating in the maze-castle when he was a child.

It had been such a splendid place, despite the stark, stiff white structure of the castle, with the two ominous towers standing by its sides. There was an intricate hedge maze built with flowering plants leading to the entrance, and so many large trees around where you can climb and explore. It used to make Otabek’s heart race whenever they visited, especially when there were other noble families around. The time you’ll lose playing hide and seek in that maze… 

But now, the maze-castle held neither wonder nor beauty, having been abandoned and unkept throughout these years. Under the thick blanket of snow, the decrepit structure seemed colder, lonelier - the warmth it had in the summers of years past was all gone.

Taking the path around the now ruined hedge maze, the host stopped before the maze-castle’s massive doors, the icicles lining the arches looking rather intimidating as the first of the guards dismounted to clear the entrance for their liege. The wooden doors creaked loudly at their urging, opening slowly to reveal what was inside.

“Lovely,” said Prince Phichit, as he stepped inside the empty, desolate palace.

Minister Wu shivered, breath misting as he spoke. “Let us settle in first, my Prince - perhaps get a fire started-”

“Excellent idea, minister - I can barely see a thing in here. We’ll need a light source to explore this place,” Grabbing Guang Hong by the hand, Phichit grinned and looked around eagerly. “A torch, please, anyone?”

When there were plenty of torches to go around, Prince Phichit lead the party. Beside him, the Crowned Prince looked nervous, yet determined. Even the advisor appeared a little excited at the prospect of treasure-hunting.

Minister Wu is the only one who disapproved of their quest.

“Lord Altin,” Phichit began, “Can you lead us to the labyrinth?”

He remembered his father when he was alive, warning him not to cross to the other side of the castle, where the twin towers would swallow him inside it’s twisting and endless passages.

Otabek clutched the torch in his hand and nodded.

Guided by his memories, Otabek led the host up the sweeping staircase, stopping at the third level where the libraries and recreational rooms used to be in. Turning to a long dark hallway, he walked steadily to its end, where the only door he never dared enter in his childhood lie.

“I only remind His Highness that the labyrinth has been searched multiple times and has been found empty,” was Minister Wu’s last and vain attempt to stop the hunt.

“We’ll see it for ourselves, thank you,” said Prince Phichit, and ordered the royal guards to accompany them, leaving Minister Wu behind with the rest of the host, together with the Captain.

The door leading to the labyrinth is plain - and used to be locked. Otabek grabbed the rusted iron handle and pulled. The door nearly fell off it’s hinges.

Past it, is two paths leading in opposite ways, with a great stone slab at the middle.

With all his hesitance gone, Crowned Prince Guang Hong stepped forward, eyes round with curiosity. His fingers tentatively reached out to the tall tablet, tracing the engraved writing on it.

“What does it say?” asked the Imperial Prince.

 

_ Жадность делает монстра всех нас. _

 

Otabek moved his torch toward the stone, casting dancing shadows behind him.

“ _ Greed makes a monster of us all,” _ answered Otabek. 

Phichit snorted, as if Otabek had just made a joke.

“Onward then,” the Thai Prince said. “I have a good feeling about going left.”

And so they went, climbing up the stairs as it began. The ascent is long and at the end of it, there is another fork in the path.

“Which way do we go?” Guang Hong panted softly, eyeing the three doors.

“The middle door,” said Phichit, heading straight to it.

Once past their chosen door, there is only a hallway, and another two split paths. The maze begins here.

“Shall we go?” With a smile, Phichit pulled at Guang Hong’s hand, leading him to the right, as if he knew exactly where to go.

“Your Highness,” Like the rest of them, Otabek followed the princes, a frown building on his face. “I don’t think we should go about this so haphazardly - we could easily get lost in here, especially without sunlight to guide us with the cardinal directions-”

“I agree,” Interrupted the advisor, who, despite the cold, had a sweaty forehead. “We should slow down somewhat-”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Phichit waved his hand carelessly, a smile on his face, “We’ll be alright.”

With the argument dismissed, the party silently followed what was mostly Phichit’s direction, which seemed only based on the Prince’s whim. After several turns and a few backtracks, Otabek was sure that they were deep inside the maze now, as he too began to get confused which path they had taken previously.

“I think we should go back,” The advisor said, after they backtracked three times in a row. “My Prince-” 

“A moment,” Phichit closed his eyes, tapping his foot as he chewed his lip. 

“Your Highness-” tried Otabek, but Phichit shushed him.

A bout of silence followed. Then - a gasp.

“ _ Phichit _ ,” Guang Hong took several steps back, his freckled cheeks draining of color. “Phichit, look-”

All of them did. The Imperial Prince pointed at a way to his immediate right with a trembling finger.

“What is it?” asked Phichit, who finally allowed himself to be interrupted.

Guang Hong took a deep breath, mouth opening and closing a few times, before, “I - I saw something - s-something in the dark-”

“It’s just a trick of the firelight,” Otabek said, moving his torch toward the hallway to demonstrate, but before he could, he saw a pair of faint glowing lights in the distance.

Guang Hong gasped once again, and hid behind Phichit. 

“Who’s there?” Otabek’s voice carried well into the hallway, echoing, fading.

The glowing pair moved up, synchronized, as if they were one in a whole. And like a pair of eyes, it blinked.

Otabek moved his torch away to see better in the dark. The royal guards withdrew their swords.

The lights multiplied, appearing in twos, filling the hallway unevenly pair by pair, as if blinking into existence.

The Imperial Prince let out a soft shriek, before running away.

The rest of them followed - save from Otabek, who stood there in front of the hall, transfixed by the sight.

He could still hear Prince Phichit yelling ‘stop!’, but the royal guards were relentless - they needed to protect the Imperial Prince, no matter what the cost. Soon, echoes were the only thing that Otabek heard - they were well away by now. Safe.

A part of him wished he’d ran, too.

“I have no desire for your treasure,” Otabek found himself saying, his mouth going dry. The fire burning on his torch flickered as he gripped it tight and moved it up.

The lights turned red.

He instantly felt the urge to run as soon as the eyes moved toward him with incredible speed - Otabek instinctively moved his arms up to shield himself from whatever horror was lurking in the dark - but no teeth sank into his flesh, no claws dug into his skin. The monster was non-existent.

They were just lights - misty and denser toward the center, in varying shades of red.

Otabek took a deep breath, lowering his arms. The lights floated around him, as if considering him.

Then, one shot straight to his chest, going through him like smoke.

Otabek reeled back as if he was punched. His heart hammered wildly against his ribcage as memories flooded him-

- _ the sight of his home country, Khazaria, burning; his father and older brothers, going out to war; his little sister, who hanged herself; his mother, imprisoned in their own castle; the Heavenly Emperor sitting on his throne, making the offer to him, while the body of his decapitated father lay in front of him- _

“Stop,” Otabek sank to his knees, shutting his eyes tight, hands clawing at his chest in vain as he tried to get the heavy feeling out, “ _ Please _ …”

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was crying.

The lights had turned white. Some of them appeared bluish, while some looked like candlefire, flickering similarly.

Otabek took a moment to gather himself, wiping his tears away harshly before standing up. He didn’t even notice that he had dropped his torch earlier.

The lights floated serenely, surrounding him. One roughly the same size of an apple grazed through his fingers. Otabek couldn’t help but flinch, but he was not attacked with an onslaught of his most terrible memories - instead, he remembered temperate summers and smiles. The sound of his sister’s laughter. The taste of his mother’s cooking.

It nearly brought tears to his eyes once again.

“What are you?” Otabek’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

The lights only floated, returning to the hallway they once came from. More and more of them brushed and went through Otabek, as if urging him to follow their trail.

_ The hedge maze in full bloom - a room filled with music - a boy with the eyes of a warrior -  _

The torch was forgotten on the maze floor as Otabek walked, lead by the lights.

The glow was enough for him to see - the brighter and larger ones kept close to him, as if knowing he needed light to know where to go. For a long time, the orbs guided Otabek through the maze, leading him through every twist and turn and passage, up several flights of stairs and across a long bridge where below, he saw numerous skeletons lying on the ground.

He knew he was somewhere high up at this point, but without a window to peer through, he could not exactly determine where. Just as when Otabek was about to ask the lights - however stupid it would sound - to lead him to a window, he saw another door.

The lights began to pulsate. They floated toward it, through it. Otabek swallowed, his feet hurting.

“Is this the end?” He asked - but of course, there was no answer. The orbs merely flew and went through the door.

Seeing no other option, Otabek followed the lights, and opened the door.

One step - and he was falling.

He did not even have the time to scream. In an instant, there was impact - Otabek landed on something that poked him harshly on the side, then he continued falling again - and then a second impact - something hard and flat this time. The third time was the last, where he finally landed on his side, on top of something uneven.

Otabek groaned and opened his eyes. He was met with something bound in leather. A book.

He landed on a pile of books.

“Thanks a lot,” He murmured as he pushed himself up, wincing as he felt his body ache all over. Those damned orbs could have hinted at something that he was about to walk straight into a freefall.

Then - a scream.

Before Otabek could look where that came from, he received a direct hit on the face with a projectile - leatherbound and large - a book. Then, another - it hit him right on the head, making him groan loudly. Scrambling to get up, Otabek managed to avoid two flying books before he could stand and face his attacker.

“Stop!” Otabek shouted, hands flying up to defend himself. 

He was met with green eyes - wide and a little terrified, but they were  _ fierce _ . Otabek was overcome with a swift sense of deja vu, of a summer when he was eleven.

He held his breath.

Those brilliant eyes still regarded him warily, but they heeded Otabek’s words. The book in their hands remained pressed to their chest.

“Are you - Are you  _ real _ ?”

A soft voice - uncertain - came from the other. Long, golden blond hair shifted past their shoulder as they moved closer slightly.

Otabek stared openly, his lips parting to answer, but not quite getting there.

He had never seen anyone so stunning.

But he  _ has _ \- the summer of long ago, in the Summer Palace, the Romanovs, those unforgettable sea-green eyes-

“ _ Yuri _ ,” Otabek says, with the rush of a breath.

His attacker gasps. That small face and delicate features show nothing but surprise.

“You know me,” He says with wonder, “You know my  _ name _ !”

Otabek sunk to his knees to bow, but was not quite able to tear his eyes away from the Prince.

Yuri Romanov dropped the book in his hands and rushed to meet Otabek. He too knelt, eyes taking in every detail on the other’s face, as if he was afraid that Otabek would disappear any minute.

“You  _ fell _ ,” Yuri said, hand coming up with the intention to touch Otabek’s face, but his fingers only hovered above his skin. 

Looking up, Otabek searched where he actually came from - and spotted an open door high above the wall. The chandelier closest to it was swaying a bit, with a slightly bent arm and a missing candle. 

Otabek felt his side ache at the sight. He was surprised he managed to survive that.

“I hit you with a book!” Exclaimed Yuri, who finally had the courage to touch Otabek’s rapidly swelling cheek. “I - I didn’t know - didn’t expect you to come from  _ there _ ,” He traced the tender flesh on Otabek’s cheekbone, getting defensive.

“I didn’t, either,” admitted Otabek. “I only followed the lights - I hoped they would lead me out of the maze.”

“Lights?” Parroted Yuri, who seemed confused for a moment, “Do you mean - the  _ sprites _ ? The sprites led you here?”

Otabek only nodded dumbly, skin tingling where the Rusthenian Prince had touched him.

Yuri laughed, half with disbelief, half with amazement.

“Viktor was right,” He breathed, staring at Otabek with a smile. “He said-”

A sudden gust of wind whirled through the circular room, snuffing out a few candles on the chandeliers. There was a faint whistling, the sound steadily turning into a loud screeching noise as the wind picked up speed.

Yuri’s face paled. 

“No,” He said with fear, “ _ No _ -”

Yuri stood up, looking up at the tall windows. His lower lip began to tremble.

“I have been found!” He shouted, and the desperation in his voice surprised Otabek, “You cannot keep me anymore -  _ I have been found!” _

Otabek saw something fly past one of the windows with blinding speed. 

“You can’t do this!” Yuri was close to crying but his will was solid. “I’m leaving with him!”

Otabek pushed himself up and watched as the wind rushed through the windows together with something grey, like smoke and frost - condensing rapidly at a point on the ground where it took form - a wraith of massive size, monstrous and tall. It was a beast with bat-like wings that shimmered in the dim light, talons as sharp as ice, and a serpent-like head with a breath that curled and misted heavily in the cold.

Yuri took a few steps back and grasped at Otabek’s hand. “Take me away from here.”

Clutching Yuri’s hand tightly, Otabek took one last look at the dragon, and ran with his prince.


	2. Vow

The dragon came upon them with the swiftness of the winter wind.

One moment, Otabek was running with Yuri's hand secured in his and the next, he was on the ground, swept and knocked off his feet. A loud, screeching noise came from the circular room they just exited from, wind rushing out of the door and swirling on the ground once more – the dragon-wraith was assuming it's earthly form for the second time.

Otabek rose with rising panic, and found his hip colliding with a stone-carved railing as he stood up.

A short, wide bridge connected the circular room to another part of the tower. Otabek noted briefly that there were other bridges there too, positioned in varying heights and points. At the bottom, he saw the silhouette of a mass of dried up skeletons.

“Run!” Yuri screamed, bolting away from the wraith, his long blond hair in disarray.

An extended hand was Otabek's attempt to reunite with his prince, body leaning forward to reach him better, but before Yuri could take another step, a claw sprung out of the swirling frost, snatching the Romanov Prince from the ground.

“Yuri!” Helpless, Otabek watched as the dragon's long, slender neck emerged into existence, large bat-like wings extending out as if in triumph. In the dim, two, glowing eyes opened to peer down at Otabek, staring back as a predator would to its prey.

Captured by the dragon's claws, Yuri pummeled the ice-like talons with his bare hands. One of his shoes fell off his foot as he struggled, and was brought up to the dragon's eyes, as if for inspection.

“Let me go!” Yuri demanded fiercely, “I _want_ to go!”

The dragon turned its head this way and that, before rearing his attention back to Otabek.

“Release him,” Unsheathing his sword, Otabek stood his ground. The dragon turned its head again, focusing one eye at a time at him, before releasing a cloudy, misty breath.

Yuri screamed when the dragon rushed forward with blinding speed, jaws open to strike.

Barely avoiding imminent death, Otabek jumped away from the wraith's path, watching as the stone railing behind him shattered under the force of the dragon's bite. Heart thundering in his chest, he quickly thrusted his sword to stab its head – but the tip of the metal only skidded off and clanged loud, as if it had hit a particularly hard piece of ice.

“No!” Yuri shouted hoarsely, his voice cracking at the end. Otabek wondered only for a moment what his prince was screaming about before he felt the mad force of a shove – the dragon had flicked its head and hit his entire body, sending him flying away.

Arms flailing, Otabek desperately reached for something to hold on to in his flight and managed to grip on to the stone railing on the other side of the bridge. His hand slipped a little because of the momentum, but he held on desperately, eyes darting down to glimpse at the collection of bones well bellow.

Another loud, screeching noise came from the dragon. It suspiciously sounded mocking, to Otabek.

With effort, he swung his sword back to the bridge, and heard it clatter against the stone. Now with his hands free, he hauled himself back to safety. If he was going to die, he preferred dying trying to save Yuri from a dragon rather than falling off a bridge.

“Run away!” When Otabek landed with both feet on the ground, Yuri shouted from within the dragon's prison-like grasp. “Run, for your life!”

Otabek stared with wide eyes at Yuri – Yuri, with his blond hair clinging to his anguished face – and thought, _no_. Not today.

As if sensing his thoughts, the dragon suddenly moved its wings violently, sending a sharp gust of wind toward Otabek, effectively knocking him a few good paces from where he stood. Wings beating thrice, the wraith swooped down to attack, jaws with jagged teeth open to devour anything in it's way.

Otabek had no time to stand – avoiding it was all he could do, rolling away from the bite as the dragon descended on him, right claw bearing Yuri extended away from its violence. Quickly seizing the chance to stand, Otabek pushed himself up when the dragon bit of a sizable amount of stone from the bridge, its jaw locking around the boulder.

He was only a few steps away from his sword when a tail whipped and hit him on the side, slamming him against the stone railing with enough force to make him dizzy. Another sweep, and Otabek heard his sword dragging against the stone before it's eventful fall, the dragon's tail catching on to the weapon to throw it out of the bridge.

His world spinning, Otabek pushed himself off the ground where he had slumped on, feeling something warm snaking down the side of his face, and down to the stone beneath him – he was bleeding, but he'll manage. After all, Yuri still needed his help.

Pawing at his left boot, his fingers clumsily pulled out a hidden dagger. Otabek stumbled to his feet and faced the dragon, lips pressed into a grim line and eyes determined.

“Why won't you _leave?”_ Belatedly, he realized Yuri was crying. “You'll die, you fool!”

“No one deserves to suffer,” Otabek says, readying his dagger, thinking of the wonder in Yuri's eyes when the prince saw him earlier. “Least of all, you.”

The dragon-wraith turned on its feet and raised its head to look at Otabek carefully for a second time – watching him one eye at a time like before, as if in consideration.

Otabek gripped his weapon in anticipation. The dragon only opened its mouth and breathed frosty mist right at him, enveloping him wholly.

The cloud was so thick that he could not see – smoke-like, cold breath extended in all directions, rendering him vulnerable to attack. For a few agonizing seconds Otabek stood there, tense with his dagger at the ready, but no claw reached to swipe at him, no serpent-head shot to devour him. Death never came.

When the haze cleared, the dragon-wraith was gone.

Yuri Romanov was left sitting around and beside a few large shards of ice – the claws and teeth of the dragon. He had his head turned up, as if he was looking at something – or he _had_ been.

“Yuri,” Otabek called, carefully taking a few steps toward the prince, “Yuri...”

Turning his head quickly, Yuri averted his attention to him, face tear-streaked and cheeks pink from the cold. He appeared surprised for a heartbeat, as if he was seeing Otabek for the first time again.

Otabek stopped in his tracks – not because his vision went double for a moment and the center of his balance tipped, but because of fear of spooking the other. “Your Highness? Are you hurt?”

Yuri rose from where he stood and ran toward him.

The prince came like a golden blur – scrawny arms wrapped around Otabek's middle tightly, sending pain up his body – but he grit his teeth and never voiced it aloud.

“You did not leave,” Yuri said thickly, after a heartbeat.

“No,” Scrunching his eyes shut, Otabek braved through a few more moments of pain before patting the prince on the shoulder awkwardly so the other would let him go.

Unfortunately, Yuri did not take the hint and squeezed him tighter in his arms in apparent gratitude.

Otabek could not help but wince and breathe harshly through his nose.

 _“Shit,”_ Instantly, Yuri sprung away from him, finally realizing his mistake. “Are you – were you – fuck, you're _bleeding–”_

“It's alright,” Though as he opened his eyes, his vision tipped sideways in a way that made him want to throw up. “I'll manage, I–”

“No,” Yuri said just as he grabbed Otabek's arm and draped it over his shoulders, “You're not alright. Come. I'll treat your wounds.”

 

  
…

 

Faerie healing rituals, Otabek discovers, is something quite intimate, with soft spoken words and feather-light touches.

Not that Yuri was _a_ faerie, no matter how much he looked like one. He was a halfling just like Minister Wu said, with the blood of the old kings – but Yuri had magic in his veins, though not as strong.

He guided him back into the circular room – Otabek safely assumed it to be a library, judging from the shelf-covered walls filled with books of many sizes and thickness. Yuri half-dragged him to a settee, kicking away an opened book laying on top of the small pillow to make room for his new companion.

“I need you to remove your overcoat and surcoat,” He says, determined with a touch of shyness. “And – and your tunic, and trousers.”

Otabek felt dizzy more than ever, but he complied, reaching for the sides of his the garment, but he barely had the energy to pull it off. The rush of the fight is gone, and now, the price of pain is due.

Thankfully, Yuri took notice of his labor, and helped him out of his clothes.

When he is only in his undergarments, Otabek began to shiver – but the sprites began appearing, passing through the stone walls like smoky orbs. With them, oddly, came warmth.

“Ah,” Yuri said, looking around, “They came for you.”

Many of them hovered around him, casting soft, mellow light in the otherwise stark room of the library. Otabek reached out to a marble-sized sprite and let it pass through his palm, and curiously smelled the sharp scent of freshly cut vegetation.

“Lie down. I'll just fetch my channeling oil.”

So the prince went, pausing for a moment to chuck his remaining shoe away, going barefoot. Otabek watched him go and did as commanded, and was surprised at Yuri's quickness – he was back in a flash, clutching a shiny, black stone jar and a towel, long hair trailing behind him like a golden shimmer.

The channeling oil wasn't really an oil – it was some sort of paste, purple and thick and looked incredibly grainy. Yuri sat on the edge of the settee with the opened jar on his lap, waving a few sprites away as they crowded around Otabek more tightly when he had gone.

“I haven't done this in a while, so I might be shit at it,” was Yuri's introduction, the crude language a great contrast to his title and position. Otabek wondered just how long the prince had been stuck here for him to be so crass, but he soon forgot about his musings when Yuri proceeded with his work.

He began reciting something in a foreign tongue Otabek did not recognize. In a sweet, almost humming voice, he continued on, even as he dipped two fingers inside his jar, scooped out a healthy amount, and pressed it to his lips lightly.

Otabek expected it to stain Yuri's skin, but his lips remained pink as a rose when he pulled back.

Yuri then began writing sigils and curving glyphs on his bruised and battered skin. He does it with the gentleness of a paintbrush, index and middle finger quick and exact, as words upon words spilled from his mouth more like a song rather than an incantation.

Otabek always felt a surge of warmth everytime Yuri recited a line, like a pulse of comfort. Beat by beat, the pain in his body lessened – and with it the purple paste writings glowed softly and then melted into oil, and the oil seeped into Otabek's skin. It was then that he realized why Yuri called it so.

“I never asked for your name,” Yuri said, when he finished writing the last glyph on Otabek's forehead, a lingering touch.

“I am Otabek Altin, thirdborn son of Aibek,” He answered, and suddenly felt quite conscious as he was lying there, a cloth away from being completely naked on Yuri's lounge, covered in an oily sheen.

“Altin?” Yuri inquired with a curious tone. “The Golden Kings?”

“It has been centuries since my line has been called that, but, yes,” Otabek nodded. “We met a few years ago, in the Summer Palace.”

A look of confusion crossed Yuri's face while he stoppered the jar. “I do not recall.”

Otabek took no offense. “We met only once, and talked briefly. Do not worry – I am not very memorable, in the first place.”

“You remembered _me_ ,” Yuri shook his head. “I apologize.”

“Well – _you_ are unforgettable,” Otabek said, and regretted it right after.

Yuri suddenly became very interested on securing his already stoppered stone jar.

“Did you – did you come alone, my lord?” When he recovered, Yuri resumed questioning immediately.

“No, Your Highness,” Otabek confessed, thinking of the Imperial Crowned Prince shrieking in fright when he saw the orbs – the sprites – earlier. “I came with a host–”

“A host?” Yuri's eyes widened, his expression brightening. “But you entered the labyrinth by yourself?”

“Not completely,” said Otabek, willing to clarify but without time to, “My companions got spooked by the sprites–”

“Yet you did not fear them.” Yuri said.

Otabek remembered that red glow, and the sorrow the sprite brought after sinking into his chest. “What are the sprites, precisely?”

“Spirits,” answered Yuri, “Mostly of trees, as the castle is in the middle of the woods. They use the maze to help me stay hidden, and... They keep me company.”

 _It must be terrible,_ thought Otabek, _to be alone with nothing but spirits for idle chat_. “And the dragon?”

“The wraith is my protector,” Yuri admitted, expression solemn. “It has assumed many forms in the past, but this was the first time that I had seen it take the form of a dragon.”

Sitting up, Otabek brushed off a few sprites hovering close to his face, his fingers sinking through dense, white mist. “How fortunate of me,” He commented dryly.

“You're fortunate enough alright,” The words made the corner of Yuri's lips to quirk up a bit. “The wraith favored appearing as a serpent. You were lucky you weren't swallowed up after getting squeezed to death and then spat out to the bottom.”

“I hope it does not make a third appearance as anything else,” continued Otabek in the same tone, “I don't think I would fare better than I did before.”

Yuri looked at him oddly, for a moment.

“No,” The prince said, “The wraith – it has served its purpose. It will never return again, since you are here now.”

It was Otabek's turn to look at Yuri oddly.

“It found you worthy of _me_ ,” Yuri stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“ _Ah_ ,” said Otabek in a rush of comprehension, and let his back hit the settee.

Suddenly, Yuri turned pink, and straightened his back, hands balling into fists. “I did not mean to _imply_ – I only meant – worthy of _friendship_ ,” He hastily added, heat starting to turn his ears red. “Your forefathers had always stood by mine, and it would only be proper that we would – we _should_ stand by each other, as their descendants.”

Otabek listened to his prince ramble, and had to think that Yuri is awfully out of practice with his social skills. “Of course, Yuri. I would like to be your friend.”

Yuri nodded once, staring holes into his lap.

A silent moment passed before the prince found his courage to talk once more.

“I'm glad you made it,” Yuri said with much hesitance, “It must have been troubling, hearing from Viktor that you had to prove yourself to a wraith to get to me.”

Otabek had nearly forgotten that Yuri still was clueless.

“Anyway – Otabek, I'm going to gather my belongings so we can leave when you've rested. I'd like to bring a lot of the things in here back to the homecastle – it might take a while, now being winter, but you've got a host with you, didn't you say?”

He gripped the edge of the settee hard, his knuckles turning white, bracing himself for the task at hand. “Yuri–”

Yuri rose from his spot and meandered toward a table, depositing the black jar on top before dragging a large chest from underneath it. “I have to admit, it's sort of impressive, your sire letting you command a host. I'm not surprised it was you who Viktor sent–”

“ _Yuri_ ,” Otabek called firmly, enough to stop the prince. “Viktor is dead.”

The renewed vigor in Yuri's eyes dimmed at the news.

“Your brother died in battle.” Otabek continued.

“Is the war still on?” asked Yuri with a small voice, standing straight as a sword.

“It is over,” said Otabek gravely, “But we have lost. The empire has fallen.”

Yuri took a sudden deep breath, as if he was hit.

Intent on being quick to lessen the pain, Otabek soldiered on, determined, “The Heavenly Emperor invaded all our allied lands, even Rusthenia. The Jin Empire rules supreme in the north. The host outside is a Qin army, led by the Imperial Crowned Prince.”

“You ride with them?” The prince turned accusing, his gaze cold.

“Not by free will,” said Otabek, his wounds being prodded harshly. “My mother is held captive at Khazaria, in our own home, used as a political tool. I only bow to the Heavenly Emperor to keep her alive.”

“And what about your sire? Your siblings?”

“All dead,” Otabek answered.

Yuri huffed, and it was as if the life of him had escaped within that single breath.

“I am sorry,” Otabek said, and he was. It was a hollow feeling, being this helpless.

“I am, too,” Yuri shook his head, after a while. “I understand. You did what you had to do.”

 _But not nearly enough,_ Otabek wanted to say, but did not voice it aloud.

“Why have the Qin host come here, then?”

“The Imperial Crowned Prince was convinced the Hoard is hidden in the maze-castle. He was meant to go to Vitelia to meet his betrothed, but he favored treasure-hunting in the dead of winter, instead.”

Yuri laughed, unamused and bitter. “There is no treasure here – just me.”

Otabek stood, reaching for his garments at the foot of the settee. “Even then, he must not find you. He must not _know_ you are here. _Alive_.”

“I don't want to stay here!” Yuri stared intensely at Otabek, green eyes like fire. “I am sick of this tower–”

“They _will_ kill you,” Otabek insisted, pulling his trousers on, “Or worse. I cannot protect you from an army, let alone an entire empire, Yuri.”

Yuri seethed and fumed from where he stood, cheeks flooding with the color of hatred. “Otabek, I _cannot_ stay here. You don't know what it has been like – five years I've been locked in here, five years of waiting and wondering and _hoping_ – I am finished with that, I cannot just – just _sit_ here while that fucking bastard is on the throne of my forefathers with the blood of my entire family in his hands!”

His hands shook as he pulled his tunic over himself, the mundane task of buttoning it up to his collar becoming difficult. “The Heavenly Emperor has terrible power,” Otabek said with restrained anger, “What can you do to oust him? You have no armies, no allies, no weapons.”

Yuri trembled with clenched fists, eyes filled with desperation and determination all at once. “I have _you_.”

Otabek paused from reaching his surcoat.

“I am your _rightful_ liege,” Yuri Romanov said, “Swear your sword to me, Lord of Khazaria – in war, and into peace and prosperity.”

He looked at him and at his fierceness, at his will, with the fire of vengeance in his eyes. Otabek recognized it and felt it and could not help but be in _awe_ – the future is very bleak for Yuri, a princeling inexperienced and innocent of war, but here he is, speaking like a conqueror with a hundred thousand men behind him, so _sure_ that he could do something that would matter.

It has been a long time since Otabek let himself taste hope. He promised himself that this will be the last.

“To you,” Otabek says on bended knee, “I swear my life.”


	3. The Nymph and The Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I have: a block that is intangible, but oh, so solid.

“We must leave, my prince,” said Minister Wu, gazing through one bare window, where outside there is nothing but snow. “It is dangerous to stay here.”  
  
In the drawing room, the Imperial Crowned Prince sat by the hearth, surrounded by his furs and pillows and companions. In his hand is a hot cup of tea, steaming in copious wisps – and there he watched it with mild interest, and said nothing.  
  
“We cannot,” Beside the Imperial Crowned Prince, Phichit tore his eyes from watching the other and filled in a response. “Lord Altin is still inside the labyrinth.”  
  
“Whatever is inside the labyrinth has already claimed Altin for itself,” The advisor, who was sitting across Phichit, answered. “You saw those eyes with your own, my Prince – there is no doubt some monster lurks–”  
  
A hand slammed on the small, low table before them. The tea pot on it rattled the slightest.  
  
“There is _no_ monster, my lord,” Phichit said firmly, his fist clenching against the cool surface of the table. “Only the fear of the dark.”  
  
The advisor pursed his lips and shook his head. “My Prince knows not – there had always been tales of something prowling the labyrinth–”  
  
“ _Nothing_ has been proven,” Once again, Phichit interrupted. “No one has actually seen this 'monster' you speak of.”  
  
“Perhaps it is because the ones who saw the beast never made it out alive.” After a long pause, Minister Wu finally spoke, returning to them and sinking to the blanketed floor to sit beside the advisor. “You may not know this, my Prince, but I can vouch for the truth of this – in the many years of expeditions to search for the Hoard in the maze-castle, many soldiers have been lost. And when I say many, I am not talking about only a handful.”  
  
“Then they were lost inside the passages, not to a living entity,” said Phichit.  
  
Minister Wu sighed deeply, as if he was dealing with a child. “Whatever is inside the labyrinth – it _has_ to be left undiscovered, for now. The snow falls heavier the longer we stay put. We will be buried deep if we do not move as soon as possible.”  
  
Phichit withdrew his hand from the table and rested them on his lap, where none can see his hands. “Even if that is true, we cannot leave without Lord Altin. We have to search for him.”  
  
The Minister scoffed. “I am not wasting a few soldiers on a princeling.”  
  
“The _Khazari_ bows to no king but their own,” Phichit said with a pleasant smile. “And our Heavenly Emperor is most certainly _not_ their liege.”  
  
“I agree with the prince,” The advisor crossed his arms, droopy eyes narrowed in worry. “Our Emperor knows this... That is why he spared him in the first place, and offered him a choice.”  
  
Minister Wu seemed to think about this for a long moment. He took a few, long sips of his tea, eyes looking outside as if he would find the answer out there in the cold.  
  
“Very well. We shall search for Altin – but only till sundown. If he is not found, we leave tomorrow at first light.”  
  
“That is not for you to decide,” Phichit calmly stated, looking over Guang Hong, who had fallen silent the entire conversation.  
  
“I believe it is,” said Minister Wu coldly. “His Imperial Highness is clearly _too young_ to resist frivolities. And to no offense – it appears that you too, Prince Phichit, is as well. It was _I_ who had been tasked by the Emperor to take care of the Crowned Prince if it came to it – so it would be _wise_ to let me handle this for the ease of our travel.”  
  
Phichit silently regarded the other, before bowing slightly, his eyes lowered. “I apologize for being a little childish, Minister. The lure of the Hoard is perhaps too great for me to resist.”  
  
“I can understand,” said Minister Wu, his lip curling into a wry smile. “You are not the first or the last that will be tempted, Your Highness.” Then, he turned to the Imperial Prince in a much gentler tone, “My prince, I hope you will not feel ill will toward me, for doing this. Your father commanded me to bring you to Vitelia – and I intend to obey him, as we all do.”  
  
Guang Hong simply nodded, eyes never leaving his cup. The steam from his tea had long been gone.  
  
Minister Wu bowed low, and seemed very pleased with himself. “Advisor Liu, would you please accompany me – I need someone who can remember what path you all have taken earlier...”  
  
Alarmed, the advisor physically leaned away in apparent refusal. “Minister, I don't think I can be of much use–”  
  
“Would it be alright if I came instead?” Smiling once again, Phichit piped up, glancing at the Minister. “I think I remember the path better than anyone else.”  
  
Suspicious of the statement, Minister Wu looked at the Thai Prince contemplatively. “As you wish, Your Highness. I will make the preparations, then. Advisor Liu, I'd like a word with you, if you may,” Rising from his seat, the Minister took one last glance at Phichit before bowing. “Excuse us, my princes.”  
  
Minister Wu's thick coat trailed behind him as he walked out of the room. Advisor Liu followed after him very much reluctantly, closing the door behind him without a sound.  
  
When their companions' footsteps had faded from earshot, Phichit heaved a long, weary sigh.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Guang Hong said sadly. “I did not mean to run.”  
  
“I know,” Phichit's tone was kind, and he offered the Imperial Prince a reassuring pat on the back. “I know, Guang Hong.”  
  
Guang Hong looked back at his friend helplessly, his lips turning down into a frown. “I don't want to get married, Phichit. I don't – I _can't_ get married.”  
  
“It is still not too late.” Phichit said resolutely, “There is still time. I _will_ find the treasure for you.”  
  
“But if you do not?” The Imperial Prince worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “What will we do, then?”  
  
“There will always be another way,” said Phichit with a bright smile, “We'll pave one, on our own.”  
  
Guang Hong returned the smile, albeit dimmer.   
  
Three quick knocks came soft through the old, double doors of the drawing room. Phichit acknowledged it immediately, and nodded politely when a soldier opened the door and bowed low to pay his respects to them.  
  
“My lord the Minister wants our princes to know that Lord Altin has been found.”  
  
Guang Hong's smile fell altogether.  
  
Phichit had more control over his, however, and nodded once more to the soldier. “So quickly? How fortunate... I've been worrying about Otabek. Can you lead us to him?”  
  
“He is with the Minister now, Your Highness,” said the soldier with another low bow, “If you could please follow me.”  
  
The walk back to the third landing is quick, with Phichit striding with haste. Guang Hong appeared a little stricken beside him, hands buried inside his fur coat, breath misting softly as they went up the stairs. A commotion is at place down the long, dark hallway leading to the entrance to the labyrinth, and even at this distance, both could hear the Minister's tart voice.  
  
“Make way for the Imperial Crowned Prince!” shouted their guide, and the crowd of curious gossiping soldiers parted for their ease.  
  
Their arrival was met with a brief hush of silence. Minister Wu, pink-cheeked and in mid-rant, interrupted himself as he caught sight of Guang Hong. The advisor chose that moment of stunned silence to bow deeply and pay his respect to the Crowned Prince, and in virtue everyone followed, including the Minister. The only one who did not bow was the man standing in front of the barely surviving door of the labyrinth – Otabek Altin.  
  
“I'm glad you made it out alive, my lord,” Phichit said with a smile, as if they were talking about the weather.   
  
Otabek bowed his head slightly, his lip twitching.  
  
Something shifted behind Otabek – something cloaked in blue. Phichit cocked his head in interest and found upon closer observation that someone was standing behind Lord Altin.  
  
“I think I heard my dear Minister shouting from twenty paces away,” continued Phichit, tearing his gaze from Otabek for the moment. “What seems to be the problem, my lords?”  
  
Upon this prompt, Minister Wu puffed like an overexcited frog and pointed an accusing finger at Otabek. “Our _Khazari_ lord has found himself a bride _.”_  
  
A foreign, unfamiliar word hissed out from behind Otabek. Turning his head back a little, Otabek said something inaudible in reply.  
  
“Your Highness, what the Minister means to say is – Lord Altin _saved_ a nymph hiding inside the labyrinth,” Interjected the Advisor Liu, while he motioned at the cloaked figure behind the _Khazari_ prince. “And he found it _wise_ to take it with him.”  
  
“A _nymph_?” parroted Phichit. “At this weather? Aren't they all hibernating by now?”  
  
“He says this nymph was hunted with his siblings by a group of bandits, before they could hibernate for the winter,” answered the advisor. “The nymph fled north, into the woods, and found the maze-castle. The bandits followed him here.”  
  
Phichit raised an eyebrow. “And where are these bandits now?”  
  
“They are indisposed, Your Highness,” said Otabek.  
  
“Permanently, I pressume,” Phichit turned his gaze back to him, eyes dropping down to linger on Otabek's sword. “And why is this nymph hiding behind my chivalrous lord?”  
  
Otabek stood straighter, his hand closing around the sword at his hip. “The Minister thinks the nymph is the property of the Empire.”  
  
A beat. “Is he not?” asked Phichit, taking a step forward.   
  
Otabek gripped the handle of his weapon. “He is not a _thing_ to be owned.”  
  
“The Heavenly Emperor owns us all, Lord Altin,” Phichit smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “Even you. Come now – let us have a look at the nymph.”  
  
Otabek clenched his jaw and stood still.   
  
“I only ask a glance, my lord,” added the Thai Prince, “Nothing more.”  
  
After a long moment, Otabek finally budged from his position and stepped back, one hand still on his sword.  
  
Behind him stood a short being buried beneath a tattered hooded cloak. One pale hand clung to the material of Lord Altin's surcoat, while the other remained hidden behind the folds of his obviously inadequate winter wear. Under the hood was a small, fair face with porcelain skin, rosy on the cheeks where the cold had kissed him – and where his hair is gold like a gentle sunset, his eyes are fierce and green with all it's coolness.  
  
Phichit was not smiling anymore.  
  
“He will do as an addition to the Emperor's harem,” Enlivened by the sight of the nymph, Minister Wu regained his voice in the argument and looked at Prince Phichit. “At the moment, he will serve as His Imperial Highness' companion until we return to the mainland.”  
  
“How thoughtful of you, Minister,” replied Phichit, uncharachteristic without his smile. “But I think you haven't been paying attention lately...”  
  
His gaze met with Otabek's in a slow, pensive moment. The other met his eyes with determination.  
  
“The nymph is not a thing to be owned,” said the Thai Prince, “But I believe – he is already accounted for.”  
  
Otabek took a sharp intake of breath. In one sure motion he grasped the nymph's hand clinging onto his surcoat and looked at Guang Hong, jaw clenched. “Your Imperial Highness,” He began, “I beg for your blessing to wed this nymph.”  
  
Grinning now, Phichit turned to Guang Hong, nudging him unnessecarily.  
  
“D-Do as you will,” The Imperial Prince stuttered out in his hurry, “You have my blessing, Lord Altin. You may be wed the soonest we arrive at a shrine – or any, of your choosing.”  
  
Otabek bowed in thanks. The nymph beside him stared at him with his eyebrows drawn, lips pursed together as if he was stopping himself from talking.  
  
Flushed to the tips of his ears, the Minister huffed loudly, nostrils flared as he sneered at the pair. “Wedding a _creature_ – _ha!_ I see you've followed the footsteps of your Rusthenian king, Altin.”  
  
Sparing a glance at his betrothed, Otabek then said, “Nikolas II is not my king.”  
  
Another scoff, a cruel curling of the lip. Where before Minister Wu had been eager to separate the nymph from Otabek, now he looked at him as if he was a rat on the street. “Spare me your pleasantry, _Khazari._ ”  
  
Turning away, the Minister faced the host behind them, regarding them with a condescending tone. “Prepare the horses and carriages. We head to the Summer Palace.”  
  
The hall resounded with a collective reply. Footsteps pattered against the marble floor, with the Captain shouting orders as the soldiers moved like a mass of ants, all heading down the stairs to prepare.  
  
“A moment,” Guang Hong called to the Minister, determined with apparent need. “The treasure–”  
  
“It appears there is no treasure here, My Prince,” Minister Wu interrupted rather dismissively, glancing sharply at Lord Altin and his betrothed, “Only worthless things.”  
  
  
  
…  
  
  
  
In their journey down to the stables, not once did Otabek let go of Yuri's hand.  
  
The grounds is alive with the sound of horse hooves and chatter, and in the commotion, no one paid them any attention. As discrete as he could, Otabek walked on the periphery of the hustle and buslte, intent on keeping them unnoticed – and he had done so successfully, going into the musky and musty stables with only a few glances thrown their way.  
  
Otabek's horse grunted loudly when he approached it. Opening the wooden gate, he reached out to it with a steadying hand, patting and stroking its head in soothing strokes.  
  
“He's beautiful,” said Yuri, looking at the animal as if it was his first time seeing something like it up close.  
  
 _“She,”_ corrected Otabek, smiling a little at the praise.  
  
Yuri blinked. He looked at her once over – at the darkness of her, the built of her limbs and the strength of her stance. “She's large for a mare.”  
  
“But ultimately better than any destrier,” defended Otabek, running his hand down his horse's neck, ruffling the black, wavy hair of her mane. “She was a gift to me by my father. Her name is Maya.”  
  
Yuri reached out to pet the beast, his expression softening.   
  
Leaving his prince for the meantime, Otabek set out to prepare his mare for the journey ahead – and what journey, it was. The path back to the Summer Palace will be longer now that the snow has caught up to them, blanketing the woods thicker than before. Otabek felt sorry for bringing Maya along – though his horse had the fur to withstand the cold, it was still cruel to make her walk through several feet of snow to and fro castles in the Rusthenian winter.  
  
Once Otabek has placed the saddle on his horse, he returned to Yuri's side, and found him crouched down, head aligned with Maya's chest, stone jar in hand.  
  
“What are you doing?” asked Otabek.  
  
“I drew a sigil of the sun for her,” answered Yuri, “For warmth.”  
  
The humming chanting started once more. Otabek listened to Yuri speak in that foreign tongue again, and watched as the swirling sigil on his mare's chest glow red and disappear.  
  
Maya whined and backed up a few steps, snorting and shaking her head as if an irksome fly has landed on her nose.  
  
“Thank you,” Otabek said, stroking his horse on the neck to placate her. Beneath his hand, the mare felt like she had been soaking under the sun after a long ride.  
  
“I can draw one for you, too,” Standing up, Yuri walked over to Otabek, dipping his finger into the thick purple paste once more.  
  
“Have you drawn one for yourself?”  
  
“How do you think I could stand walking around barefoot?” Yuri said with a turn of the lips. “Give me your hands.”  
  
So Otabek did. Yuri drew the swirling sigil on both of Otabek's palms, and started that soft chant once more. When the writings glowed red and disappeared, Otabek felt warmth licking from within his hands and up to his arms, flowing fast to his shoulders and chest and _everywhere_ – he could feel it beneath his eyelids and down to the tips of his toes, the warmth of the sun present where none of it's light is there.  
  
“You are a wonder,” said Otabek, simply in awe.  
  
Yuri stopped his stone jar harshly, his face quickly getting flushed. “It's just basic magic,” He said dismissively.  
  
Otabek could not help but shake his head and smile. He watched as his prince scrurried back to his bag – a small satchel of his most personal things – and dumped his stone jar inside it, before tying it up securely.  
  
 _I beg for your blessing to wed this nymph._  
  
The smile on his face slowly melted away. Suddenly, Otabek's hands became cold despite the magic keeping him warm.  
  
“Yuri,” He began, when his prince had gone back to the horse to tie his satchel to the saddle, “The things I've said earlier...”  
  
“I am not too familiar with the Eastern tongues,” admitted Yuri, who had trouble managing his knots, “I only know a few words. But – whatever it was you said – our plan had worked, somehow.”  
  
Otabek took over the rope around the satchel and helped his prince with the task. “I told them I wanted to marry you.”  
  
“Oh,” said Yuri, falling silent.  
  
“The Minister wanted you in the Emperor's harem,” continued Otabek, finishing the knot with a yank. “I could not go with our original plan.”  
  
Yuri hissed out a curse, eyes narrowed in dislike. “So that was what that bastard was saying.”  
  
“I am sorry,” said Otabek quickly, “I did not expect the Minister to say that. The only way I could stop him was telling them – _that._ The Qin reveres nymphs, but marriage more so. _”  
  
_ “If the Qin revered nymphs, why does the Emperor want one in his harem?” Yuri asked, a frown on his lips. “Isn't that disrespectful?”  
  
“The Emperor is the son of 'Heaven',” said Otabek, “Like Prince Phichit said, we are all owned by him. Nymphs included.”  
  
Yuri scowled and spat on the hay-filled floor.  
  
Otabek huffed out a laugh. “Come on. Let's get you on the horse.”  
  
Gathering his cloak to one side, Yuri grasped on the saddle as Otabek assisted him. One foot on the stirrup, the Rusthenian Prince pulled himself up without much difficulty, settling against the leather in one smooth motion.  
  
“I still think we should have taken my leopard coat,” came Yuri's petulant thought.  
  
Otabek fixed his liege with a look. _“Yuri...”_  
  
“I _know,”_ He sighed, fidgeting with the cloak that they tore at earlier to make it look worn. “It won't go with our story, but still...”  
  
“I'll get you a new one,” Otabek offered, but that only made the prince's frown deepen.  
  
“I don't _want_ a new one,” said Yuri, in that same, petulant tone. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but held back.  
  
“We'll come back someday to get it,” tried Otabek once more. “I promise.”  
  
The prince seemed satisfied with that. “Thank you.”  
  
The dark horse whined when Otabek finally led it out of the stable and into the cold. Misty breath curled from her nostrils as the mare stomped on the dirt-stained snow with visible dislike as if protesting to his owner.  
  
Otabek could only stroke her neck as he steered the reins. “It's alright girl, it's alright.”  
  
Maya jerked her head and bumped her moist nose against Otabek's cheek.  
  
A distant cry errupted from a distance. The Captain hailed his soldiers into formation, the Qin army lining up after the Royal Carriage.  
  
The host is ready to leave.  
  
“It is time,” said Otabek looking ahead.  
  
On the horse, Yuri breathed in audibly, jaw set and fists clenched. “I am ready.”  
  
Otabek mounted the horse, sitting behind Yuri. Against him, he could feel his prince trembling – but he does not blame him, or judge him, for it. Otabek simply understood.  
  
Otabek urged the horse forward and said nothing more.  
  
  
  
…  
  
  
  
Yuri looked and looked, despite everything looking roughly the same as every new and previous sight.  
  
Away from the maze-castle, there is only trees and snow. Miles upon miles it lined their path, twisting branches and sturdy trunks covered in white. For hours Yuri watched the scenery with hungry eyes, every turn, every pine and slumbering tree, every animal that flew or scurried past. He seemed inexhaustible, head turning this way and that even while he dined on bread and cheese for lunch.  
  
“You should rest,” said Otabek, when it was well past noon. “Take a nap. You can lean on me.”  
  
“It's alright,” answered Yuri, whose attention was on a hare peeking from the remains of a dead bush, “I'm not tired.”  
  
An hour later, the prince succumbed to sleep and almost fell off their horse.  
  
Otabek let his liege lie against him, one hand on Yuri's head to keep it from lolling off his shoulder. He wished to wake him to tell him to sit on the horse differently so they could be both more comfortable, but he decided against it. Yuri looked too peaceful that Otabek felt guilty of even thinking of disturbing him.  
  
They travelled for a few more miles. Dusk approached quickly as snowfall hastened, so the host decided to stop for the evening on a clearing a few scouts had seen.  
  
“My lord,” soon enough, a soldier had approached him, after roughly an hour of preparations. “Your tent awaits near the carriage.”  
  
It was then that Yuri had awoken, surprised at the unfamiliar voice. The soldier could not help but look at him, staring at the Rusthenian prince longer than Otabek would like.  
  
“Thank you,” said Otabek, while Yuri blinked blearily at his new surroundings. “If you could lead us there, please.”  
  
With a stiff nod, the soldier turned his back and took the reins of Otabek's mare, and did what he was asked of.  
  
Their tent is smaller than that of the Captain's and the other lords, but big enough for two people. Inside and at the center there is a metal furnace, tiny and black and roaring with fire with a pile of firewood a pace away. A simple sleeping spread is laid out near it, with a low, wooden table ready with tea and supper – a bowl of hard bread, more cheese and apples.  
  
“You should have woken me up,” Yuri's eyelids were still a little puffy from sleep as he removed his cloak.   
  
“It's fine.” Otabek did the same, his fingers notably chilly. He walked closer to the furnace to warm his hands, surcoat over one arm – which ached instantly, even with that kind of weight. It was expected, having been in one raised position to support Yuri's golden head.  
  
Dragging their belongings near the sleeping spread, Yuri knelt on the carpeted floor and opened his satchel. “Come here. I'll draw another sigil for you.”  
  
So he did. Yuri took longer on it, the writing more detailed for some reason, and when he had finished chanting, relief surged from Otabek's hands to the rest of his body – and it was not only from the cold.  
  
“Thank you,” said Otabek, his fingers still tingling.  
  
Yuri just nodded and tucked his stone jar away, his long hair falling over his face.  
  
Dinner was uneventful, with only the crackling of the kindling and the harsh sound of the wind blowing outside filling in for the silence. Yuri refused to eat his bread without soaking it in his tea first, and left out the apples for later. Otabek finished his meal without any leftovers.  
  
“Where can I – uh – relieve myself?” came Yuri's question, when Otabek had gone back from filling their teapot with snow for some water.  
  
“Preferrably not anywhere near our tent,” Otabek answered as he put their kettle on the stove, and wished his face had more expression when he said it.  
  
Yuri just snorted and stood up. “Got it. Be right back, then.”  
  
It occurred to Otabek too late that he should have escorted Yuri. The clearing was big, and the tents all looked roughly the same – not to mention the visibility outside, with how hard the snow is falling. It was easy to get lost out there, and getting lost in the midst of a Qin host was the last thing he wanted for his prince.  
  
Scrambling up, Otabek grabbed his coat and struggled to slip his feet into his boots, worry eating at his heart.  
  
“What are you doing?” Suddenly, Yuri was there by the entrance, one hand holding the flap of their tent open, the other occupied with a basket.  
  
Otabek froze, one foot still without a boot. “Where have you been?”  
  
Yuri raised an eyebrow and walked inside, feet bare and pink. “I walked and peed far away from here, like you said. And additionally – that smiley prince from earlier caught me and gave me a basket of food. Congratulated me on the 'engagement'.” He placed the basket on the low table and took the cloth covering it, revealing a heap of steaming white buns. “You didn't tell me he speaks Rusthenian.”  
  
Otabek grudgingly pulled out his boot and sat beside Yuri by the table. “I didn't _know_ anybody else in the host spoke it.”  
  
“I like him,” Yuri grabbed a bun and bit a mouthful of it. “Buh 'esh kinda weird.”  
  
Otabek watched Yuri devour the bun in no time at all, and poured him a cup of warm water just in case the boy choked. “This 'smiling prince' you speak of – his name is Phichit, heir to the Thai throne. I've observed he's immensely loyal to the Imperial Crowned Prince, but despite siding with the Jin Empire, he's a just man.”  
  
“Hmm,” Yuri nodded, and reached for another bun.   
  
Otabek took one and bit into it, enticed by the smell, and found that it was filled with chicken. Thankfully, it did not taste odd or anything suspicious.  
  
After their simple feast, Yuri moved to their sleeping spread and rummaged for his comb in his satchel.  
  
Again, he was quiet for a long time. He simply sat there in his cushions, parting his hair in two and freeing it from tangles one stroke at a time, gentle but insistent. Otabek seldom stole glances of him, as if there was something compelling him to do it – undoubtedly Yuri was comely in looks alone, but he had some unnatural charm about him that Otabek could not place.  
  
“When can we escape?” asked the prince, as he brushed the ends of his hair.  
  
Otabek watched him for a moment, before, “I would not recommend that in the near future.”  
  
A frown pulled at the prince's lips instantly. “We can't stay with them forever.”  
  
“I know,” said Otabek, “But escaping them without a plan will just get us killed.”  
  
Even Yuri could not deny that.  
  
“What can we do?” continued Yuri, who laid his comb on his lap to start on braiding his hair. “Can't we ask help from our allies?”  
  
Otabek looked away then. “We have no allies.”  
  
“That's impossible,” Yuri's frown deepened. “My father had cousins – nearly a dozen of them, and there were other nobles loyal to our name. Eight kingdoms used to be in the empire – I'm sure even one was successful in resisting.”  
  
“Many of your sire's cousins and allies became turncoats in the middle of the war,” Otabek filled his cup with more warm water, watching the firelight reflect against the teapot. “And those who remained loyal – including other noble houses outside of Rusthenia – were gathered and killed, and replaced with the Heavenly Emperor's own relatives or allies to rule over their lands.”  
  
Yuri cursed lowly, tightly braiding his hair as a result of his anger. “There _has_ to be someone out there.”  
  
“I am sure there is, but they are too weak,” Otabek said, before taking a sip. “There had been a dozen or so coups for a few months, before winter hit – but all were small and too scattered to make a difference.”  
  
Tying the end of his hair, Yuri finished his task and threw his braid over his shoulder carelessly. “At least we know the people are still fighting.”  
  
“At least,” agreed Otabek, and fell silent.  
  
At this time, Yuri had decided to lie down, resting his head on one modest pillow. “What about Khazaria?”  
  
“The Emperor placed his most favorite general to rule there,” Otabek answered with unbridled hate. “Which also happened to be the very man who killed my father, and two of my siblings.”  
  
A moment passed, before, “Why does he keep you despite having his own vassal there?”  
  
“My people are excellent riders and archers, but they are intensely loyal, which was a problem for the Qin. Near the end of the war the Emperor had depleted his forces greatly and was in need of more soldiers – _able_ soldiers – to keep his reign stable or else some other country might take advantage of this weakness to oust him. So he used me – the only remaining heir – to make my people surrender.”  
  
“What did you say to convince them?”  
  
“Do it to protect your families,” Otabek answered, gaze going distant. “I know I bent the knee to protect mine.”  
  
Yuri nodded once, turned away and said nothing more for a long while.  
  
The wind stopped howling loudly sometime in the night. Otabek wrapped the remaining buns in the cloth covering it for their breakfast and tended to the furnace a few times, chucking more wood into the fire to last till morning. Then, he observed the ceiling of their tent.  
  
It looked quite ready to give way.  
  
Standing up, he slipped into his boots with added difficulty than before and went outside. Unsurprisingly, snow covered everything.  
  
He alleviated the tent's load with the aid of a dead tree branch he had picked up near the edge of the clearing. After this, he went away to relieve himself.  
  
The camp was quiet – it must have been past midnight, by now. From afar he could see that there were still lights inside the Crown Prince's massive carriage – even smoke was wafting from the little chimney at the top.  
  
He briefly wondered if he could discreetly set fire to it – including all the tents save his and Yuri's – but dismissed the thought when he spotted a couple of soldiers patrolling around the area. Tough luck.  
  
After his pensive walk, Otabek decided it was time to return to get some sleep, but he was welcomed by a startled and very awake Yuri.  
  
“Where the _fuck_ did you go?” The Rusthenian Prince was clutching the sword he had given Otabek before their departure from his circular room – his one and only weapon. “I thought you died.”  
  
Otabek stepped inside their tent and pulled his boots off. “I'm sorry I didn't wake you.”  
  
“I heard some thudding, and someone talking.” Yuri laid the sword back down, still anxious. “I thought someone peeked in here a while ago.” A beat. “You took a long time taking a piss.”  
  
Otabek chose to ignore the last comment and settled on the sleeping spread, beside Yuri. “It's probably the soldiers roaming the camp. What were they talking about?”  
  
“Hell if I knew,” said Yuri, frowning. His braid had gotten slightly loose in his sleep. “I don't speak Qin.”  
  
Right. Otabek dragged his surcoat and the blanket that went along with the sleeping spread to them. “Go back to sleep, Yuri.”  
  
The Rusthenian prince laid down, despite being a little reluctant. “Tell me when you're taking a shit, next time.”  
  
Otabek had to laugh as he pulled the blanket up to Yuri's chin. “Will do, Your Highness.”  
  
Yuri closed his eyes, eyebrows still scrunched, face half-burried into his pillow.  
  
Otabek laid beside him.   
  
“I'll take you to Khazaria someday,” He found himself saying after a long moment of just lying there. “And lead an army in your name.”  
  
Green eyes opened just a sliver. “I feel like we're just going to fail, whatever we do.”  
  
“Most likely,” Otabek smiled in their grim humor. “But I think at this point – dying would be better.”  
  
Yuri's lips twitched upwards. “Yes,” He croaked, and fell asleep shortly after.

 

**Author's Note:**

> holler otayuri with me on [tumblr](http://lycoryss.tumblr.com/)


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